Their Dark Waltz
by AnElusiveDreamer
Summary: The world seems to slowly leave the Opera Ghost in the past, but Meg can never let him go. The world around her feels more dead with each passing day. Yet, the Opera Ghost has never felt more alive to her. Oneshot. Erik/Meg


**Note from the Authoress:** Woohoo! I'm writing again. This is the first thing that I've written in FOREVER. I found this story half-written in my Gaia Online journal of all places. Then, I stayed up half the night finishing it in a ecstatic frenzy! There was a pretty big gap between the time that I wrote the first half of this phic and the second. I hope that they flow together. Maybe you can spot the break? Anyway, I think this little Erik/Meg story was a great way to get myself back into the world of fanfiction.

**Please enjoy and review! Concrit is always welcome. :)**

For as long as she could remember, Meg Giry had always had a fascination with the story of the Opera Ghost. She hung on every whispered word that was shared among the ballerinas. She was even delighted to find herself passing through deserted hallways. A pleasant sort of tingle would run down her spine as she anticipated his appearance at every turn. It was true that she did fear him, as many of the other performers came to do, but that only made his allure more potent and thrilling. It was half the fun! Nevertheless, she was quite surprised to learn that her best friend in the world had become so entangled with him.

Her discovery of the mask only spurred her curiosity. She had tucked it away as one of her most prized possessions. Still, every night she would take it out to stare and wonder about the man who had once hidden behind it. She would caress the mask reverently and imagine the most dramatic stories to go with it. Then, she would fall asleep and dream enthralling dreams about who or what could be behind the mysterious happenings.

Christine was gone now. She had another life now. Meg could only assume that this meant the infamous phantom had disappeared as well. Yet, a glimmer of cautious hope remained with her. That kept her smiling. She could still recall her last meeting with Christine vividly.

They had sat face-to-face in the most cheerful café that Paris had to offer. Its brightness seemed so far away from the dark siege that the opera house had just escaped. Christine spoke quietly about perfectly mundane things like the new life with her preciously husband without a word about the volatile events that had preceded their marriage. They were both so much more reserved than they had been in their days at the opera house as they danced around a subject deserved further discussion. Something had clearly changed in their relationship. Meg knew it wouldn't be best to drag up memories of the shadowy past, but she blurted out a barely coherent question about the Opera Ghost in spite of herself.

"Oh, Meg," Christine had said, her eyes slightly distant without disturbing the glow of marital bliss that was displayed on her other features. "That is all in my past now. The opera is in my past. I… I can't give him another thought."

Meg was happy for Christine. She thought. They sat and chatted idly until their teacups were nearly drained. Then, Meg ventured one more question about the Opera Ghost. This time, the words felt much more lucid.

"Do you know where he has gone?"

Christine simply shook her head.

That did nothing to satisfy Meg's inquisitive mind. Christine had forfeited her Angel of Music, but he lingered at the corners of Meg's dreams. His power over the opera house had been so strong that it continued to tug at her after the traces of his existence had vanished.

For awhile, Meg would wander around the opera house in her free time. She searched for anyone who could tell her anything about the phantom. No one would even dare to mention him.

Christine's dressing room was abandoned. No performer dared to occupy it after the strange events that had involved the young Swedish soprano. Meg secretly wished for it. She resisted the desire to look inside each time she paused it.

However, there were things which Meg could not resist. She discovered one of those things on one of the most dreary evenings of December. That night, the great opera house was nearly empty.

Meg had been one of the ballerinas who chose to stay late. She was the last to leave. Oh, the other girls had warned her not to stay, but Meg did not hear them. She thought only of dancing. Dancing to please the tragic enigma whose tale inspired her.

When she was finally satisfied with her dancing's delicate precision, Meg prepared to leave. Yet, there was one thing that drew her back. It was the grand stage-the one that she had dreamt of night after night-and the mysterious figure who commanded it. They called her wordlessly.

Meg gasped as she stood in the center of it. This was the exact spot where the opera's great prima donna would stand as she sang her dying lines. No music was playing, but the ballerina felt her limbs tremble with excitement. One thing remained unresolved.

"Where are you?" she whispered to the void. "You are gone! Christine is gone! Even that bland viscount is gone. I cannot live in the shadow of a dream of a dying past. I cannot live all alone! Who is left for lonely little Meg?"

The words grew louder as she spoke. At last they crescendo in a pleading cry. Tears blurred her eyes as she threw herself into a dizzying twirl.

"_Dance_," the void told her. "Dance!"

A frantic violin played to match her frantic heartbeat. Her leaps and spins rose to meet the frenzied pace. Minutes flew as she danced as if she were carried by the enchanted red shoes that would dance until doomsday. However, the music eventually slowed to a tranquil melody. Meg filled each movement with the most grace and beauty that she could muster. Nothing less would do. She danced with a new found peace.

The melody came to a tender conclusion. Meg stood gasping in the silence. She had given her whole heart to this music. A music that encompassed earnest beauty and sorrow.

"_Jump_," urged the void.

It was now that Meg realized how close she had come to the edge of the  
>stage. The rapturous violin had taken her away from the world for a while. Still, she knew a fall could ruin her. A miscalculation could be<br>her demise.

"Jump!"

But she had given her whole heart. The moment her feet left the ground  
>transformed her into a floating angel. For one sparkling second, she was the embodiment of perfect grace. But the void never met her. Instead, she found herself encircled in cold, skeletal arms. Her eyes were shut.<p>

She opened her eyes to the physical world once more. A mask greeted her. Still, it was not a full one. This was a half mask just like the curious mask that she treasured. She caressed the bare part of the face in disbelief.

"Yes, flesh and blood," the phantom said. "Human." He added that last clarification with a touch of bitterness.

"Real!" Meg gasped. "All real! And the mask?"

"A mere replica," he replied coolly. "One that I assumed I would never need." His eyes watched her with a playful glint.

"Who are you?" Meg summered.

"Surely, you must know by now. I am he-the master of this opera house," he said simply. "I am Erik."

"_Erik_," Meg echoed in wonder. The Opera Ghost had a name! Christine had never told her these details. She had been so secretive about her teacher and angel, but Meg could not blame her.

Meg had never been held this close before. Now, she was in the arms of the Opera Ghost. He set her feet back on the floor, but he still held on to her. Then, they began a sort of ethereal waltz as they traded soft questions and answers. Meg knew it was all real. The tingling that had started in her fingertips had spread to her whole body. It felt better than anything that she could ever hope to dream up. She felt chills in the most wondrous way.

The moments seemed to last forever as Meg let this mysterious man, this Angel of Music, hold her. Her breathing quickened as she stared up into her watchful gaze. She felt like she knew him. Like she knew the tragic mystery, pain, and beauty of this man. She felt complete as she whirled around in this phantom waltz. Finally, she had to tear herself away.

"I must go," she said sadly. "Mama will be worried."

A silence hung between them.

"Go," he answered firmly. The delicate ballerina did not pull herself away from him. He studied her. His long fingers sifted through her hair affectionately. "But return tomorrow night."

Meg nodded solemnly but kept still.

"You could be an empress one day, you know…" he mused. His touch became playful. Meg's face glowed with a smile.

"No," she insisted. "I know what I want to be."

Meg willed herself to pull her body away from the masked man. Every moment that they touched felt intoxicating, but she somehow managed to resist it. But there was one last moment that they needed to share. A kiss. Meg's first kiss.

Meg stood on the tips of her toes as she titled her head upwards to meet the lips of the masked man. He needed to bend down slightly to bridge the distance between them. But their lips finally met for a fleeting flash of ecstasy. Meg felt like she would collapse with the devil may care passion that surged through her. Now, she truly was that floating angel.

Then, it was over. Meg had to pull herself away from this dream-spun reality for now. She remained with him in thought. After all, it was every day that you danced with the Opera Ghost and received your very first kiss from him. That night, she dreamed of him again. This time she could fill in the details of his long, cod fingers and penetrating gaze. She had to admit that the real thing was much lovelier than silly fantasy.

Meg locked the moments of this cherished encounter deep in her heart. She told no one. And she vowed to always return for their dark waltz.


End file.
